


Denial - The Prequel

by NarryMusings



Series: Denial, The Series [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (the girlfriends included), Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Narry - Freeform, Sexual Content, but they're only mentioned - Freeform, narry storan - Freeform, there are mentions of people outside the band
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 05:50:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3966763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NarryMusings/pseuds/NarryMusings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry walks – more like stumbles – the line between friends and lovers with Niall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Denial - The Prequel

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second part of the series, but it's also a prequel so it actually takes place before the first part. It sounds confusing, I know.

It’s not like Harry plans it. Really, it’s not. He’s thought about it - only about one hundred billion times since he was nine years old and realized he liked Niall more than he liked any of the other kids at school, but he hadn’t ever planned on  _doing it_.

The thing is, Niall is totally into girls. Of this, Harry is absolutely certain. Niall’s been a skirt chaser since he was eight years old and decided he didn’t care if everyone else thought girls had cooties because he thought they were really pretty. Niall’s only ever been interested in  _girls_ ; dated a girl named Holly when they were 14 before she broke his heart seven months later and then dated another named Amy when they were 15 until she cheated on him after only five months. He’d decided, then, after hours of crying into Harry’s pillow that he wouldn’t ever let another girl hurt him. That’s not to say that Niall doesn’t want to date anyone - because he does and he has, it’s just he’s always the one to break it off; always the one to walk away before he has the chance to get hurt.

And Harry’s just sort of…watched. He watched Niall get his heart broken - by two smart and beautiful girls and now he watches Niall play the field. (All the while harbouring a crush of his own.)

They’re 16 years old now and Harry thinks about it often; thinks about the way Niall’s lips would feel against his own, about how Niall’s guitar string-calloused fingers would feel carding through his hair and dragging across the back of his neck, about how Niall would feel, pressed up against him - all soft and warm. He’s also made up at least a dozen different scenarios in his head in which he would do it; kiss Niall.

And in the middle of a small, empty kitchen during a house party whilst collecting snacks out of a cupboard next to the fridge definitely isn’t one of them.

One minute Niall’s reaching into the cupboard and grabbing two bags of crisps - and it’s like in the next Harry’s kissing him; lips pressed against lips, hands cupping Niall’s face. Niall doesn’t react at first. In fact his entire body goes rigid, even as Harry’s hands drop to grab at Niall’s waist and pull him closer. And then he does, sighing into Harry’s mouth and melting against Harry’s body and a shiver works its way up and down Harry’s spine. Fireworks explode behind his eyes and his heart skips several beats before beating so loud in his chest he’s pretty sure they can hear it all the way downstairs.

Niall’s the one to pull away first a moment later, breathes out a laugh against Harry’s lips as he pushes back against his chest. “Jesus, Haz. Warn a guy,” he laughs – the one that makes Harry weak in the knees.

Harry dips his head, feels the colour rise in his cheeks and rubs one hand over the back of his neck. “Sorry,” he murmurs.

The blond disappears back downstairs a minute later, leaving Harry to grab more drinks out of the fridge on his own. Harry gets back downstairs to find Niall sandwiched between Sean and the new blond girl from school – whom Harry keeps forgetting the name of, her legs splayed across Niall’s lap. He forces down the jealousy that bubbles in his throat and ignores the hurt which sits on his heart in his chest as he takes a seat across from them.

Niall winds up snogging the blond haired girl a couple hours later and Harry goes home alone, sniffing back scorned tears and reminding himself that he can’t be mad at Niall because Niall’s into  _girls_ , not Harry. He promises himself he’ll never speak of it again.

X

They’re 19 and it’s New Year’s Eve in London when Harry decides he can’t keep his own promise. The thing is: it’s been  _three years_  and he can’t stop thinking about it. Can’t stop thinking about the way Niall’s lips felt – like silk and satin and everything in between. Can’t stop thinking about the way Niall’s fingers had tugged ever-so-gently at the fabric of Harry’s shirt. Can’t stop thinking about the little, barely there moan that slipped from the blond boy’s lips as he pulled back and pushed Harry away. He just…can’t stop thinking.

And it doesn’t help that everyone at this stupid party is more concerned about this  _New Year’s Kiss_ than they are about actually ringing in the new year. Harry’s never been one to worry himself over things like New Year’s Kiss but it’s all he can think about  _now_  because Niall’s here and he’s going to kiss someone and Harry really, really wants it to be him.

That’s how he finds himself, hand wrapped in the collar of Niall’s jumper, dragging the blond out into the hallway – away from the group of Uni students in the living room.

“Harry, what are you-”

“Shhh,” Harry slurs, pressing his finger to Niall’s lips. He trips on his own foot, stumbles into his best friend and they both fall into the wall.

“Haz,” Niall laughs-

“Remember when I kissed you?” Harry asks, his gaze searching Niall’s face for any kind of recognition - which he finds in the blues of the blond boy’s eyes. “We should do it again – be my New Year’s Kiss.”

Niall sighs, pushing gently against Harry’s chest to forge a gap between them. “Harry-“

“Niall,” the brunette mocks playfully, reaching his hands out to grab at the bottom of Niall’s jumper. Niall grabs his hands to stop him but Harry keeps trying. “C’mon, it was good last time, right? Like, I wasn’t the only one who felt it, right?”

“Haz-”

“Niall!” a soft, cheery voice interrupts - and both boys look sideways, gazes landing on a tall, brunette girl. She’s in Niall’s English class and looks like a damn model. Harry’s pretty sure her name’s Barbara.

She stumbles in between them, completely disregards Harry, and curls her arms around Niall’s neck. Niall, to his credit, hesitates before placing his hands on her hips. “Ten seconds,” she says – and only then does Harry actually hear the rest of the house counting down. “Kiss me.”

Harry blinks, watches Niall hesitate and swallow hard.

Barbara giggles, flipping her long, shiny hair back away from her face.

Niall glances past Barbara at Harry.

Harry swallows a nervous lump in his throat.

Niall looks back at Barbara, who presses their foreheads together.

Harry finds himself holding his breath.

It’s like it happens in slow motion: Barbara kisses Niall; Niall kisses back but stares – the entire time – at Harry and Harry’s heart fucking breaks apart in his chest.

X

They don’t talk to each other for about a week after that but then mid-terms are just around the corner and they always study together so they do just that. They spend the evenings at Niall’s flat studying and making loads of coffee to stay awake. Sometimes Harry’s too tired to go back to his own flat, which he shares with one of their mutual friends, Louis, so he spends the night in Niall’s guest room. And sometimes, when they’re both too tired to even leave the living room, they fall asleep tangled together on the floor.

In almost no time at all, things go back to normal.

And then it happens.

Harry winds up going home with Niall – for nothing more than to crash in the guest room so Louis can bring the bird he’s been eying for weeks home in privacy after a night of celebratory pints on the last day. They’re drunk and giggly and Niall’s literally the only thing holding Harry up. Niall, in return, uses the door to hold them both up as he fumbles with his keys.

The door swings open and they stumble over the threshold together. Niall kicks the door closed, tosses his keys into a bowl on a small table next to the door and then they both struggle to get themselves out of their jackets. Harry kicks his brown, grungy boots into the closet before stumbling into the living room and then dropping to his knees on the space carpet. He spreads himself out across the floor, arms stretched out at his sides just as Niall enters the room.

Niall drops to the floor and lies down beside Harry. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Feel like I haven’t been this drunk in ages.”

“That’s because it  _has_  been ages,” Harry laughs. “Halloween, would be the last time we got this drunk.”

Niall erupts into a boisterous fit of giggles. He rolls on to his side and buries his nose in Harry’s shoulder. “That was a good night.”

Harry hums in agreement.

"I was expecting to be just as drunk – if not more – on New Year’s Eve, to be honest.”

Silence falls between them, then, and Harry stiffens. Niall must feel it because he snaps backwards, gaze trained on Harry’s face. Harry, who feels sick all of a sudden. He pushes himself up so that he’s sitting and stares at his lap for a moment before he mutters something about going to bed and pushing himself to his feet.

“Wait – Harry,” Niall stutters.

Harry ignored the rustling sound Niall makes as he, too, climbs to his feet and continues to walk down the hall instead. Niall’s bedroom door and the guest room door are directly across from one another and Harry’s only just got his hand on the doorknob for the guest room when there’s a hand on his shoulder.

Niall tugs at his shoulder and he turns around. Harry stares at Niall – and he doesn’t even know what he’s waiting for but he waits because Niall’s staring right back. He’s got this dazed and conflicted look in his eyes and Harry’s about to turn back around, to leave Niall to his own confusion, when the blond closes the gap between them.

Harry doesn’t register it, at first – doesn’t realize that Niall’s actually kissing him until the blond boy tugs at the fabric of his jumper and they’re stumbling towards Niall’s bedroom door. Niall’s back hits the door with a thud and a groan of surprise, which vibrates in Harry’s mouth and that’s when he truly realizes that Niall’s  _kissing him._ He gasps, kisses back as he fumbles blindly with the doorknob.

It all happens so quickly after that and Harry both cares and doesn’t care. He cares because he wants it to be slow, to be perfect, to be everything he’s ever dreamed it would be - and he doesn’t care because, well, it’s  _Niall_  and this is all he’s ever wanted. It’s all frantic kisses, and tearing off clothing. It’s all stumbling and tripping over feet and clothes and the space carpet in front of Niall’s bed. It’s all moans of pleasure and ecstasy and breathless pleas and, the occasional, drunken giggles.

Niall clings to him, hands roaming up and down his back, legs wrapped around his waist, panting into his mouth. He begs Harry to go faster, to get deeper – and Harry thinks he was made for this; made for  _Niall_.

A raspy, desperate sob rips its way out of Niall’s throat as he comes apart. He trembles with it, fingertips digging into Harry’s shoulders, thighs squeezing at Harry’s hips as he tosses his head back. Harry groans in response and drops his head to bury his face in the crook of Niall’s neck as he, too, comes apart, surrounded entirely by Niall.

They fall asleep like that, tangled in one another.

+

Harry wakes up alone the next morning and the disappointment in his chest physically  _hurts_. He gets up, gets himself dressed with his clothes from the night before – which Niall must have picked up and folded when he’d thrown his own in his dirty laundry hamper and prepares himself for the walk of shame.

Niall’s in the living room, lounging on the couch with an Xbox controller in his hands and a McDonald’s breakfast sandwich on the loose fabric of his baggy sweat pants. He motions, mouth full, to a closed McDonald’s bag on the coffee table as he leans forward, grabs a spare controller from the shelf underneath the coffee table and tosses it at him.

Harry has half the mind to just take the bag and leave – because he knows this is just Niall’s way of ignoring what happened last night. But he stays. And if he regrets it a few hours later, because Niall more or less tells him that the previous night was nothing more than a one-off between best mates, then nobody has to know but himself. Nobody will  _ever_  know but himself.

X

Harry’s got one hand on the doorknob and the other grabbing his phone from between his ear and his shoulder, having just said goodbye to Louis before his flat mate could complain  _any more_  about how late Harry is. And he’s just about to turn the doorknob, whilst pocketing his phone, when the door swings open. His lips lift into a smile because  _of course_  Niall would be waiting at the door for him; the only person who gets more excited than Niall over footie games is Louis – and that boy’s been at the stadium with Eleanor for 20 minutes already.

Except Niall isn’t the one standing in the doorway. In fact, Niall isn’t anywhere to be seen.

“Hi,” a dark-haired girl greets him, rather shyly at that. Her hair is long and a bit messy in that just-woke-up kind of way and she’s wearing a short, red dress that hugs all of her curves perfectly, a black leather jacket and silver, glittery heels. “Sorry, I was just-”

“Who are you-” Niall’s voice cuts off as he comes around the corner and his gaze lands, almost immediately, on Harry. “Haz, hey,” he greets awkwardly. “Um, just gimme a minute, yeah?”

Harry nods silently as he steps aside.

The girl turns to wave at Niall, hugging a silver clutch to his chest. “So, thanks – for last night. I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, see ya,” Niall replies distractedly as he slips his feet into a pair of converse shoes.

Harry smiles, tight-lipped, as the girl slips past him. He stares at her retreating back for a moment before slipping through the doorway to close the door behind him. He swallows a lump in his throat as he watches Niall shove his arms into the sleeves of his jean jacket. “Where’d you meet her?” he asks, trying to keep his voice as level and casual as he can.

“The study hall.”

“She was at the study hall dressed like  _that_?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow.

"Well, no,” Niall laughs, rolling his eyes. “She was at the bar I went to with Bressie last night dressed like  _that_. I just kinda met her at the study hall a couple days ago.” He runs a hand through his hair and uses the other to shove his keys into his jacket pocket. “Ready? Tommo’s gonna kill us.”

Harry hums in response as he leads Niall out the door.

If Niall notices just how upset Harry pretends not to be during the entire game, he doesn’t say anything.

X

For the first time in weeks, Harry feels  _good_. Like, really good. And it might have everything to do with the fact that he’s incredibly drunk.

It might also have to do with the fact that there’s been a pretty blond girl, Kate, draped across his lap for the better part of the evening. She’s a friend of Eleanor’s, she models her way through law school and, well, she has  _great_  legs. And Harry’s intrigued.

He’s so intrigued he doesn’t even notice the fact that Niall keeps glaring across the table at her. And, ok, that’s a lie because he’s definitely noticed. Every time she laughs and buries her face in his neck, every time she touches his shoulder like it belongs there, every time she whispers in his ear and then giggles when he laughs he catches a glimpse of Niall glaring at her like he wants to rip her hair out. And, maybe, Harry sort of enjoys that – because maybe it’s Niall’s turn to feel hurt now.

The thing is Harry’s been with girls before, a few of them in fact. And he’d genuinely liked all of them. He also genuinely likes Kate – and if she decides she’d like to go home with him after all then he’s already decided he would forget about Niall, even if it is only for one night. They’re sort of on the same page, after all – him and Kate, because she’s just gotten herself out of a long-term relationship and all she’s looking for is a bit of fun and, well, Harry isn’t exactly looking for a long-term relationship either. (Unless it’s with a certain blond  _boy_.)

Besides, Louis’ full-on rooting for the two of them to  _at least_  hook up. “Harry hasn’t pulled in ages, so he could use the exercise,” he’d said, vulgarly – which earned him a slap upside the head from Eleanor. “Ow – what? It is a form of exercise, you know,” he’s continued. “Plus, I can  _feel_  the sexual tension from over here.”

They’ve just done a shot of tequila, Harry’s sucking on a lemon slice and Kate’s talking more into the side of Harry’s face than into his ear when Niall calls his name from across the booth. Harry looks across at him expectantly and Niall stares back, arms folded over his chest. “Come to the washroom with me.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “You can’t go by yourself?”

Niall narrows his gaze in a way that tells Harry, silently, that he isn’t kidding.

The brunette sighs, then, and Kate drops her legs from where they’re hooked across his thighs as he slips out of the booth. Nobody says anything as he follows Niall – past several tables and down the hallway towards both the women’s and men’s washrooms. Someone walks out of the men’s room just as they walk in and then Niall’s moving quickly, checks all the stalls to make sure they’re empty – and then he’s pushing Harry against the door and twisting the bolt into place to lock it.

Harry gasps with the force of it, stares wide-eyed at Niall’s face and recognizes, immediately, the lust in the blues of Niall’s eyes. “What-“

Niall drops to his knees, then, and his hands go straight for Harry’s belt. He gets it unbuckled and gets his zipper all the way down before Harry stops him, grabbing at his hands. Niall looks up at him – and, fuck.

"What the hell are you doing?” Harry breathes.

“Shut up, Haz,” Niall mutters. He slaps Harry’s hands away and then tugs at the waist band of his boxers.

Harry hisses when, a second later, Niall’s hand wraps around his shaft. “N-Niall-“

“Do you want me to get you off or not?”

Harry stares for the briefest of moments and then throws his head back against the door and squeezes his eyes shut. It doesn’t take long for him to come apart in Niall’s hand – because Niall’s on his knees for him in the middle of a public washroom. His own knees are week and shaky as Niall fixes him back up. He watches Niall through lidded eyes as the blond washes his hands in the sink beside him.

And then Niall’s kissing him, licking into his mouth and tugging at his shirt – and the only thing that’s missing is the taste of himself on Niall’s tongue.

“Don’t go home with her,” the blond breathes, his lips brushing against Harry’s.

Harry opens his eyes to look down at him. “Where would you have me go, then?”

“Home with  _me_.”

X

Harry’s head throbs the minute he comes to. He groans, buries in face in the pillow beneath his head. It smells like Niall – and it should because it’s his.

Niall stirs behind him and his arm tightens around where it’s draped across Harry’s waist but he doesn’t wake. It’s just a twitch, one Harry’s come to recognize in the last several weeks as something Niall does in his sleep. And Harry relishes in it even if Niall isn’t aware that he does it.

He has a half a mind to get himself out of bed and  _crawl_  down the hallway to get some Advil out of the bathroom and half a mind to just close his eyes and let the hangover pass. Maybe Niall won’t be as hungover as him – being  _Irish_  and all – and maybe when the blond gets up to get something to eat he’ll bring back  _something_  to cure him. Usually Harry’s the one who’s up first, preparing breakfast in the kitchen that Niall hardly uses because himself and usually Niall strolls in, looking  _almost_  as hungover as Harry feels, and sits himself at the breakfast nook until the food is ready.

And that’s because they’re always drunk the night before.  _Always_. And the rest of the time - when they’re sober or when they’re hanging out with the lads, everything is strictly platonic. It’s like Niall has to be drunk in order for him to take advantage of his own desire, for him to acknowledge that there’s _something_  even if they’ve never talked about it.

Harry decides, then, to change that. He smirks to himself as he slips carefully out from under Niall’s arm. Niall instinctively rolls onto his back, which gives Harry total access as he crawls, gently, between Niall’s legs. He presses a soft, barely-there kiss to the small trail of dark hair underneath Niall’s belly button before dipping his head even further down and sucks the tip of Niall’s dick into his mouth.

Niall stirs and a long, breathy moan slips through his teeth. Harry looks up at him through his eyelashes to find Niall looking back, a lazy grin spread across his lips. “Should wake me up like this more often,” he murmurs, carding one hand through Harry’s hair, tugging gently at the curls.

And, yeah, Harry probably will.

X

Harry tries not to gawk when he shows up, unannounced, at Niall’s flat one day a few weeks later. He’d just finished school for the day and decided since he didn’t have any plans - and that Niall, to his knowledge, didn’t have any plans either – he’d surprise the blond boy Chinese take-out and sex; two of Niall’s favourite thing. Bag in one hand and the key Niall had made him ages ago in the other – because Harry spends more time at Niall’s flat than at his own anyway, Harry finds himself fumbling slightly with the dark brown messenger bag slung over his shoulder as he struggles to unlock the door.

There’s music playing – which he’d heard from out in the hall – but he doesn’t think anything of it. He deposits his bag and key ring on the kitchen counter before carrying on towards the living room and-

Niall isn’t alone.

Nor is he aware that Harry’s even there; he’s far too preoccupied by the dark-haired girl straddling his lap and kissing him and running her fingers through his soft, flat hair.

Harry thinks he’s gonna be sick. It’s like his heart falls into his stomach and his stomach jumps into his throat at the same time – and then it’s like he forgets how to breathe. He panics, wants to get away as quickly as possible – because he sort of knew that Niall was still sleeping with other people but he doesn’t want to have to  _see_  it.

He turns to leave, not realizing how close he is to the wall next to him and slams his shoulder into it. He hisses – hears a muttered “shit” behind him and then the music stops. Instinct, more than anything, makes him turn back around just as Niall’s pushing the girl off to the side and climbing to his feet. The girl, to her credit, looks a bit embarrassed but Harry’s gaze settles on Niall.

Niall, who looks a bit guilty and confused. “Harry, what are you-” he cuts himself off when he notices the plain plastic bag in Harry’s hand. “Shit, Harry-“

Harry shakes his head and turns to make a beeline for the front door. He grabs his keys and his bag off the counter and replaces it with Chinese food; he isn’t hungry anymore anyway.

"Haz-”

He doesn’t bother to listen to whatever else Niall tries to say. Instead, he slips out the front door and slams it shut behind him.

Niall calls him about half an hour later but Harry ignores it. He also ignores the apology Niall texts him almost immediately after.

(In fact, Harry doesn’t talk to him for five days – and on the sixth day he doesn’t really have a choice because Niall comes over to his flat when he knows that Louis isn’t there. And Harry’s never been one to turn down make-up sex.)

X

Harry doesn’t even think about it when he swoops in to kiss Niall in the middle of the blond’s kitchen. The lads are in the living room playing FIFA, yelling at each other over a “missed call” this and “foul” that – and he doesn’t even think twice. Niall grabs five more beers, hands two to Harry and then all of a sudden Harry’s kissing him.

This time, however, instead kissing back eventually, Niall reacts right away by pushing against Harry’s chest.

Harry falls back slightly and stares at Niall, hurt and confused – because this is a thing now, isn’t it? At least, it  _has_  been a thing. In fact, a lot of the time, it’s  _Niall_  that kisses  _him_.

Niall’s gaze flickers to the doorway and then he looks back at Harry and shakes his head. And Harry gets it, then. It’s not that Niall doesn’t want to kiss him, it’s that Niall doesn’t want to get  _caught_  kissing him. Which is just as worse, Harry’s finding out, because it hurts just as bad.

“Lads!” Louis yells from the other room. “What’s takin’ so long?”

Niall heads back into the living room almost immediately but Harry has to hang back. He stares at the spot where Niall just was and then stares at the spot where Niall just left.

“Harry,” Louis calls as he pokes his head into the kitchen. “You coming back or what?”

Harry blinks, licks his lips before nodding his head and following Louis back into the living room. He sits beside Zayn rather than beside Niall, which is where he was sat before and tries, desperately, to ignore the fact that Niall refuses to look at him for the half hour that follows. He also ignores the fact that Louis keeps looking in between them – and if Louis notices the tension, he doesn’t mention it.

It’s not until a few hours later, when Harry grabs his things to leave with Louis and the rest of them, that Niall really acknowledges him.

“Where are you going, Haz? I thought you were sleeping over?”

“‘m tired and I work in the morning,” Harry mutters, although it’s a poor excuse.

Niall quirks an eyebrow. “That’s never stopped you before.”

€

The brunette sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I just want to go home, Niall.”

“Harry-”

“Why don’t you get someone else to keep you company?” Harry snaps, which surprises even himself.

Niall blinks, taken aback. Hurt flashes in his eyes and Harry has to bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from taking it back because it isn’t him that should be apologizing.

X

Harry isn’t exactly surprised when Niall shows up at the bakery at the end of his shift; he’d been ignoring the blond-haired boy all day, letting text messages go unanswered, and he knew it would only be a matter of time until Niall got sick of being ignored and came to find him. He just sort of expected Niall to corner him at his flat, where there’s nobody around because Louis has class all evening, rather than in the middle of a crowded bakery.

He greets Niall like he would any customer – smiles, says “hi” and asks him if there’s something he can help him with - and Niall plays along, orders two coffees (one just the way Harry likes it) a chocolate chip muffin for himself and a blueberry one for Harry. It’s Niall’s way of saying they need to talk – and the fact that Niall goes out to wait in the car is his way of telling Harry they have to go somewhere else.

They wind up back at Niall’s flat. It’s quiet and for some reason Harry feels really, doesn’t quite know where he should sit. He decides to sit at the nook in the kitchen whilst Niall leans back against the counter.

“We have to talk about this some time, Harry,” Niall says, voice breaking through the silence.

Harry quirks an eyebrow. “Talk about what, exactly? About the fact that we keep hooking up? About the fact that you won’t even touch me in public because of it? Or about the fact that you’re still sleeping with other people?”

Niall flinches visibly. “Yeah – I mean, all of it,” he mutters. He stares at Harry like he wants Harry to understand and then sighs. “I’m not…I’m not good at this, ok? I don’t know how to do anything beyond nameless fucks and one night stands so  _this_  is just…it’s overwhelming. And you’re not either of those things – because you’re so much more than that. You’re my best friend and you’re important to me and this is just…it’s all fucked up in my head, Harry - and I don’t know what to do about it. This is new to me and I can’t…I just need some time to figure this out, ok? Just, please, give me some time.” Niall’s voice is so quiet near the end - so tentative and uncertain, a bit quivery, that it tugs at Harry’s heartstrings.

Harry finds his resolve softening as he looks at Niall looking at him, almost desperately. “Niall-“

“It hurt last night,” Niall starts softly and Harry doesn’t even need him to finish it to know what he’s talking about but he continues anyway, “when you said I should get someone to keep me company because you were implying how much of a slag I’ve been – and then I realized how hurt  _you_  must have felt every time I did sleep with someone else and I just…I’m so sorry, Haz.”

Harry blinks. Niall doesn’t have to say it but Harry that’s his way of saying he won’t sleep with anyone else.

"And I can’t - I don’t want anyone else to know just yet,” Niall murmurs. “I’m just, I’m not good at this to begin with and I just don’t want everyone sticking their noses in and, quite frankly, I don’t think it’s anybody else’s business. I just – I want to just let this be what it is for now, you know? And if you can’t do that then that’s fine, we’ll just – we don’t have to do this anymore but just don’t…don’t leave me, yeah? You’re my best friend and I can’t lose you so just don’t-”

“You won’t lose me, Niall,” Harry says softly, pushing himself to his feet. He crosses the space between them, rests his hands on Niall’s hips. “You won’t lost me,” he says again, pressing his forehead against Niall’s.

“S-so you’re okay?” Niall asks uncertainly as he looks up at Harry through his eyelashes. “With not telling anyone?”

“Yeah…yeah, I’m ok,” Harry murmurs – and he’s a bit surprised by how easy it is to say. Because even though he’d like nothing more than to kiss the blond boy in public and hold his hand in front of their friends, he just wants  _Niall_  more – and if that means keeping it to themselves for a while then he’ll do it. “It’s our little secret.”

Niall grins, tugging Harry even closer by his shirt as he tilts his head and presses a kiss to Harry’s lips. Harry melts into it just as Niall pushes gently against him. He groans, chases Niall’s lips but then the blond giggles and starts tugging him down the hallway – and Harry  _almost_  forgets why he was even upset with Niall in the first place.

X

It only takes a total of five days for Harry to realize that he’s actually  _not_  as ok with keeping _himandNiall_  a secret as he’d like to be. Mostly because it’s actually incredibly difficult trying to act like he  _isn’t_  on cloud nine. And he’s even less ok when, a couple of days after he realizes he’s not, the lads decide to suggest finding Niall an actual girlfriend instead of a one-night stand.

“What about that one?” Liam asks, pointing subtly towards a blond-haired girl on the other side of the bar.

“Nah,” Louis mutters with a wave of his hand. “She looks like a one-nighter-”

“Says the lad who likes takin’ ‘em home for one night only and then forgets about ‘em in the morning,” Louis snickers.

“I don’t  _forget_  about them,” Niall says defensively. “And I don’t objectify them – it’s a mutual decision between two consenting adults, neither of whom want anything  _more_  than a one night stand.”

"That’s a nice speech you’ve got there, Horan – how many times have you practiced that?”

Niall scoffs, rolling his eyes as he chucks the slice of lemon from the rim of Harry’s glass across the table at Louis. Liam laughs whilst Louis sputters and tosses it back and Zayn remains silent in the corner of the booth, shaking his head at his idiotic friends.

“I’m just saying maybe settling down wouldn’t be a bad idea,” Louis goes on. “The three of us have done it, haven’t we boys?” he asks Liam and Zayn, who both nod and indulge him by bumping their fists together. “Relationships aren’t as bad as they sound.”

“I’m just not interested in-”

“Well why the hell not?” Louis pushes. “Being in a relationship is actually a pretty great feeling.”

“You’re whipped, Tommo.”

“Liam! Back me up,” Louis demands.

“He’s not wrong, Niall,” Liam says, pausing to take a sip of his pint. “It’s like…you love someone, yeah? And they love you back, no matter what. It’s – it’s like having another best friend! Only you kind of want to just lie in bed all day with them and then spend every other day with them as well-”

“Until someone fucks it up,” Niall interrupts, folding his arms over his chest stubbornly.

“Oh for God sake, Niall,” Louis snaps. “Don’t be such a Negative Nancy.”

Harry shifts uncomfortably and Niall must notice because he glances sideways at him and then leans forward and makes a show or rolling his eyes. “Can we just drop it?”

“Will you at least let me set you up with someone? El has this friend Gloria and she would be perfect for you.”

“Louis-”

“Just one date, Niall,” Louis coaxes. “Just go on one, actual  _date_  with this girl.”

Niall sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll think about it.”

Harry clears his throat, then, and mutters an excuse to use the washroom before sliding out of the booth and disappearing down the hall. He stands in front of the mirror, grips the edge of the porcelain sink in his hands and drops his head.  _You agreed_ , he reminds himself.  _You said this was okay_.

The door opens behind him and Harry knows, without even looking up, that it’s Niall. And when he does look up, gazing into the mirror, it’s to find Niall standing next to him, a hand gripping his shoulder tightly.

"You know I’m not gonna do that, right?” the blond murmurs.

Harry quirks an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Niall scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I’m not interested in seeing anyone else.”

Harry turns his head to look at the boy next to him. “What  _are_  you interested in?”

Niall smirks, then, and drags his hand down the curve of Harry’s back as he takes a few steps backwards towards the door. He flicks the lock on it into place and then raises one, suggestive brow as he walks back towards Harry.

The brunette smiles, cocking his head to the side as Niall presses him against the sink and tugs at the waistband of his jeans.

Niall doesn’t actually respond - he just pulls Harry into a stall and murmurs into Harry’s mouth a plea for Harry to fuck him. It’s not  _exactly_  what Harry was hoping for but he takes it; of course he does.

X

Harry doesn’t see or hear Niall come into the kitchen until a pair of arms circle his torso and Niall’s voice, accent thicker than usual having just woken up, in his ear.

“You don’t have to keep doing this, you know,” Niall whispers before letting him go and settling beside him, hip leaning against the counter, to look at him.

Harry shrugs, glancing from the scrambled eggs in the frying pan on the stove to meet Niall’s gaze. “I want to. Besides, if  _I_  don’t use your kitchen who will?”

Niall groans, rolling his eyes. He pushes playfully at Harry’s shoulder before pushing himself away from the counter to pout himself some coffee into the mug Harry had set next to the coffee maker for him. “You sound like mum,” he scoffs - and then puts on his imitation of his mother as he continues. “‘You should make your own meals more, Niall.’ ‘Stop with the junk and the fast food, Niall.’”

“Your mother is a lovely woman and I love her,” Harry defends.

“I know you do,” Niall snorts.

“And she’s right. That insanely good metabolism of yours won’t hang around forever.”

“Oi!” Niall shouts, sounding only mildly offended. “I resent that.”

Harry winks at the blond boy playfully and then pinches the tiniest amount of skin on Niall’s stomach.

Niall squirms, swatting Harry’s hand away with one hand whilst holding his mug out carefully so the coffee doesn’t spill. He carries the mug towards the nook and sets it down on one red placemat; the placemats were Harry’s idea when Niall had moved in last year. “Where’d you get the eggs?” he asks, walking back towards where Harry’s standing. He reaches into the cupboard directly in front of them to retrieve two plates. “I thought I ran out.”

“You did. I ran out to the store; got milk too.”

“And bananas?” the blond teases, gesturing towards the three, not-quite-ripe bananas in his fruit bowl - something Harry made up, he’s sure.

Harry smirks.

Niall steals a forkful of scrambled eggs out of the pan just as Harry lifts to scoop an equal amount onto each plate. “Mmm,” he moans. “You can make me breakfast any day, Haz. And not just because everything you make is delicious.”

Harry smiles at him, watches him turn, plate in hand, to walk back towards the nook. The  _I just like it when you make me breakfast_  goes unsaid.

X

Harry comes to, not to the sound of the phone vibrating on the bedside table, but to the fact that whoever it is has Niall getting out of bed. Niall never gets out of bed unless he absolutely has to – and he most certainly doesn’t answer his phone in the middle of the night unless it’s absolutely important. And the fact that Niall not only answers the phone, his voice thick and hushed so as to not wake Harry, but also untangles himself from where he’s spooned up against Harry’s back to get out of bed and walk to the other side of the room is more than a bit concerning.

He sits up and Niall must hear the rustling of his sheets because looks back over his shoulder for a fleeting second – it’s only just long enough for Harry to see the sadness in his eyes, illuminated by moonlight – before turning back to look out the window. Niall speaks in whispers and Harry can really only make out that whatever it’s about isn’t  _good_.

Harry watches him, back resting against the headboard, as he plays with the hem of one of his blackout curtains. And then as he picks at the tips of his messy bed hair. He’s fidgety and Harry wants to just pull him back into bed and make him stop. It’s a nervous, uncomfortable tick Niall has and Harry’s never liked seeing him like this.

A murmured, “Love you too,” signifies the end of the call and Niall drops the hand holding his phone to his side a moment later. Harry’s not quite sure how to react, whether he should get up and gather Niall into his arms or let Niall come to him.

Niall rubs, then, at his eyes with both hands and he sniffs like he’s holding back tears. And Harry’s about to get up, pushes the sheets back and everything - but then Niall looks at him, eyes shining with unshed tears, and he shakes his head. “Don’t,” he whispers.

So Harry doesn’t. Instead, he leans back against the headboard and let Niall cross the room. Let’s Niall crawl back onto the bed and then pull him down. Let’s Niall tangle their legs together and bury his face in Harry’s bare chest.

“Nan passed away a little while ago,” he murmurs.

Harry lets out a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding. “Shit, Ni,” he whispers, holding Niall tighter. “I’m so sorry.”

“The funeral will probably be next weekend.”

Harry wants to ask if he’s ok but he knows better. He wants to ask if his mum is okay but he knows she’s not either. He wants to ask if his nan was in pain, if she went in her sleep like they hoped she would, if she was alone…but he knows that it’s probably the last thing Niall wants to talk about.

“Think I’ll fly out on Thursday. Come back Monday - maybe Tuesday.”

“I can look for flights for you,” Harry suggests. “I mean, if you want to just help your mum, I can take care of it.”

“Will you come with me?”

Harry blinks, taken aback. “Are you – you want me to?”

Niall shifts, then, and squirms out of Harry’s arms to look at him properly, face-to-face. “Of course I do,” he breathes. He leans forward, closing the gap between them for the briefest of moments to press a chaste kiss against Harry’s lips. “Besides, mum says nan would want you to be there. And I reckon she’s probably right.”

A smile tugs at Harry’s lips, then, and he’s glad for the darkness which hides the blush creeping up his neck. “Then I’ll be there.”

Niall nods and then surges forward to bury himself once more in Harry’s arms, resting his head on Harry’s chest. “Thanks.”

“Of course.”

X

Ireland is a bit confusing for Harry. The whole thing is actually just a huge mess and Harry finds himself wishing that a funeral isn’t the reason for him and Niall to have to return. He wishes he could see his mum and Gemma for lunch and not feel like he’s abandoning Niall. He wishes Maura didn’t look so sad all the time. He wishes Niall’s family wasn’t under so much stress from having to plan a funeral and  _bury_  their loved one.

And he wishes he didn’t feel so awkward about being there – like he was intruding. Like he was a distraction. He wishes he hadn’t felt like he didn’t know how to act around Niall, like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to act like a best friend or  _boyfriend_.

It’s like, at home with his family, Niall was a lot more reserved and careful in how he interacted with Harry. Like Niall, himself, didn’t know how he wanted to act with Harry; sometimes it was like he didn’t even want to stand next to Harry and other times Niall would refuse to let Harry out of his sight. Not to mention the fact that Niall spent the entire weekend looking after his mum and not looking after himself, despite how sad he was, and Harry had spent the entire time preparing himself to pick up all the pieces.

As it turns out, though, the Horan/Gallagher clan treat funerals – or at least the evening after this particular funeral – the same way they treat anything else: with pints and laughter whilst reminiscing and swapping stories.

By the time they get home and into the comfort and familiarity of Niall’s childhood bedroom, Niall’s all drunken giggles and pulling Harry into bed and then sucking him off against the wall – and Harry would be lying if he denied that that was ever a fantasy of his growing up. Niall doesn’t bother letting Harry return the favour after that, just rolls over and passes out. Harry decides, then, that the least he could do is get Niall out of his suit pants so that’s what he does before tucking Niall in. And if he spends longer than necessary going over Niall’s drunken confession of the fact that his nan always had a suspicion that Harry fancied Niall in his head, then nobody else needs to know.

Fast forward a few more days and the ride home from the airport is incredibly quiet. It’s also 2 o’clock in the morning and Niall is half asleep in the passenger seat and Harry’s not sure if Niall knows this but their fingers are intertwined. Harry wakes him up once he’s parked in the visitor’s section and offers to walk Niall up, which Niall accepts. He then follows an exhausted Niall straight into his bedroom where Niall collapses on the bed, fully-clothed and Harry coaxes Niall into at least letting him take off his shoes, which he places on the floor at the end of the bed.

Harry leans in to press a kiss against Niall’s forehead and then as he turns to leave he feels fingers wrap gently around his own and he turns back to the blond boy staring up at him with wide eyes.

“Stay,” Niall whispers.

“A-are you sure?” Harry asks - and then wonders why he’s even asking.

Niall nods – and suddenly his eyes are swimming in tears and his bottom lip trembles as he lets out a shaky breath. “Please just stay with me,” he murmurs.

Harry rushes to strip himself down before clambering over Niall’s body to settle on his side of the bed. Niall shakes and cries and Harry wraps himself all around him. He plays with Niall’s hair and wipes the tears off Niall’s cheeks and when Niall kisses him – tenderly and then desperately, like it’ll take away all of Niall’s pain – he tastes the salt of the tears he can’t catch.

This is, essentially, what Harry’s been waiting for – for Niall to let it out, because he hasn’t cried since getting the phone call.

X

Harry stares, perplexed, at the cup that usually holds his and Louis’ toothbrushes – which now only holds Louis’. He checks the medicine cabinet behind the mirror and then both drawers in the vanity under the sink and comes up empty.

“Lou?!” he calls out – and even his voice sounds confused. He runs a hand through his hair as he leaves the bathroom and walks back down the hall to where Louis and Eleanor are curled up in each other on the couch. “Have you seen my toothbrush?”

“It’s at Niall’s, isn’t it?”

Harry blinks, stares at Louis with a blank face.

“You took it with you, like, two weeks ago,” his best friend reminds him. He grins then, cheekily. “Which means you haven’t slept in your own bed for  _two weeks_ , Harold. Is there something you’re not telling me? Have you moved out on me?”

Harry rolls his eyes with a playfully-offended “No I haven’t moved out,” before he turns around to walk into the kitchen – more to give him time to fight the blush spreading across his cheeks. He hears rustling from within the living room, hears Eleanor mutter under her breath for Louis to “leave it alone” but Louis marches into the kitchen after Harry anyway.

"Is there something you aren’t telling me?” Louis demands, although the amusement in his voice is palpable.

Harry ignores him, pulls his phone out of his back pocket and then leans against the counter as he swipes his thumb across the screen to unlock it. He busies himself in pretending to check his messages – although he really does want to text Niall.

“You  _are_! Harry Styles, you tell me what you’re hiding!”

“‘m not hiding anything,” Harry replies, struggling to keep his voice even.

"Yes you are. Tell me.”

Harry remains silent.

“It has to do with Niall, doesn’t it?”

“Louis Tomlinson, you get your arse back in here!” Eleanor shouts from the other room. “Now!”

Harry smirks. “You better listen to her; you know what happens when you don’t listen to her.”

Louis’ face blanches. He frowns, then, pointing a finger in Harry’s direction. “This isn’t over.”

Harry shakes his head as Louis backs out of the room and pulls up his and Niall’s text messages on his phone. He types out a quick message –  _Your bathroom if holding my toothbrush captive._  – and then places the phone on the counter to grab a glass out of the cupboard.

A reply comes a moment later –  _so come get it then ;)_  – and Harry leaves the glass on the counter as he heads down the hall to bedroom to get his jumper. When he emerges and grabs his keys off the hook next to the front door, Louis asks him why it’s so important to retrieve his toothbrush at 11:30 at night and Harry tosses a playful-middle finger over his shoulder.

And if he winds up staying the night at Niall’s – several  _more_  nights, in fact – then, well…

X

The lads are over and it feels like it’s been  _days_  since he’s had alone time with Niall without at least _one_  of them – or one of Niall’s coworkers – hanging about as well. And not only is Harry incredibly frustrated sexually but he feels starved of Niall’s attention. (He’s never been very good at handling that sort of thing.)

They’re gathered in the living room. Liam, Zayn and Louis are piled on to the couch, limbs sort of all tangled together on top of the coffee table, Niall’s sat in the armchair off to the side of the sofa on a diagonal and Harry’s taken up residence on the floor, head propped up on a pillow and limbs sprawled out around him. His foot is propped upon the shelf underneath the coffee when he feels something nudge against it. He ignores it at first, thinks it’s just one of the lads moving their own about – and then it happens again, hard this time like there’s a purpose behind it. His gaze lands immediately on Niall and the blond smirks at him, nudging his head slightly in the direction of their friends as he rolls his eyes.

And Harry smirks too, because Niall wants them to leave just as badly at Harry wants them too.

Niall’s foot nudges his again and this time his toes rub into the arch of Harry’s. Harry nudges back – and then they’re both playing footsie with each other like teenagers.

The movie ends and the credits haven’t even begun to roll up the screen when Niall yawns, stretching his arms above his head dramatically. He makes up an excuse that he’s tired and wants to go to bed so the lads push themselves to their feet. Niall stands to follow them and pulls Harry to his feet as well – and if their hands linger, pinkies hooked around each other until Niall has to let go to carry on towards the foyer then nobody else notices. Harry, meanwhile, hangs back behind Niall, arms crossed over his chest as he leans a shoulder against the wall as Niall walks the lads towards the door.

Louis looks back at him as he shoves his feet into his shoes. “Coming, Harold?”

“Nah, ‘m gonna stay here.”

“Suit yourself,” Louis shrugs. Both Zayn and Liam are too tired – and already halfway out the door – to care.

The moment the door is closed and locked, Niall’s on him – kissing him hungrily, licking into his mouth, biting gently at his bottom lip, tugging at his shirt, pushing him backwards down the hallway. Harry kisses back, moans into Niall’s mouth as the blond gets his hands under Harry’s shirt and he curls his fingers around the back of Niall’s neck to keep him close.

They trip and stumble over each other’s feet in their haste to get to Niall’s bedroom – and when they do, they trip over the place rug by Niall’s bed.

“Thought you were tired,” Harry breathes, panting into Niall’s mouth a moment after the blond pulls away to pull Harry’s shirt off over his head.

“Must not be as tired as I thought,” Niall murmurs, pushing him down on the bed. He pulls his own shirt off and tosses it onto the floor next to Harry’s before smiling down at him and cocking his head to the side. “Besides, it’s  _my_  turn – remember?”

Harry just about comes in his jeans at that because, yeah, it’s definitely Niall’s turn. He pushes himself further up the bed, watching as Niall crawls up the bed with him. Niall settles between his thighs and leans forward, pressing their hard dicks together and hovering over him, a hand planted into the mattress on either side of Harry’s head. He looks up at Niall, his gaze flickering from Niall’s eyes to his lips and then back when Niall rests his forehead against Harry’s.

"Hi,” Niall whispers.

“H-hi,” Harry murmurs back, tilting his chin up to capture Niall’s lips with his.

Niall moans and hums as he nibbles gently at Harry’s lip and back, ever-so-slightly. “‘s nice to see ya. Feels like it’s been forever-“

“That’s because it has, so if you could just,” Harry cuts himself when Niall grinds against him. He pulls his bottom lip in between his own teeth at Niall leans back starts working, intentionally slowly, on his belt.

“So impatient,” Niall murmurs, smirking at Harry reaches down to help him.

“That’s because it’s been  _forever_ , babe. Just-“

This time Niall cuts him off by wrapping his fingers around Harry’s length and bending down to press a kiss against his navel. “You were saying?”

X

It’s 1 o’clock in the morning when Harry finds a drunk, giggly Niall on the other side of his own door. The blond’s hair is sticking up every which way, his cheeks are flushed a bright pink the grin spread across his lips is both goofy and seductive.

Harry stands in the doorway, curling one hand over the top of the door and resting the other on his hip. “Did you forget you had a key?” he teases.

"Was too lazy to find it,” Niall shrugs. He steps forward, slips his fingers around Harry’s belt loops to keep him from moving away and the presses himself up against the brunette, kissing him hard.

Harry hums, curling his arms around Niall’s waist as the blond begins to guide him backwards, kicking the door closed behind them. He tastes like beer – but also slightly like rum and he smells like a hot, muggy pub and Harry’s only regret is that he had to work late instead of joining Niall, Bressie and a few of their friends at the bar because, well, they could’ve gotten started on this earlier.

Niall pushes him gently down onto the couch and crawls over him, lies himself on top of Harry’s chest – just lies there, nose buried in the warm fabric of Harry’s t-shirt. “Missed you,” he murmurs softly.

Harry’s heart skips a beat in his chest and if Niall notices, he decides not to say anything. “Yeah right,” he scoffs playfully. “I bet you were far too busy to even think of me.”

“Lies,” Niall giggles, craning his head so he can press a kiss to the underside of Harry’s jaw. He plants his hands against Harry’s chest, then, and pushes himself up so he’s sitting back, straddling Harry’s hips. “Guess who ended up joining us at the pub,” he slurs, smiling from ear-to-ear.

Harry pretends to look thoughtful for a moment before – “Ed Sheeran.”

Niall’s eyes widen and he gasps, mouth falling open. “I wish! What the fuck.”

“Who?”

“Amy!” Niall replies, Ed Sheeran forgotten.

Harry’s brow furrows in confusion. “Who’s Amy?”

“Amy! Greene - fr’m high school.”

“Oh,” Harry mutters, his breath catching in his throat.

“Saw her the other day in some coffee shop and she said she was visiting a friend and that she’d be leaving after the weekend so I invited her and her friend out tonight and – yeah.”

Harry blinks up at him, his chest suddenly incredibly tight. “You got drunk with  _Amy_?”

Niall nods, fingers playing absentmindedly with Harry’s shirt. “And her friend – Isabelle, yeah. And Bressie and Lauren, of course. And-“

“You saw her the other day and you didn’t tell me?”

Niall pauses, fingers freezing as he blinks back at Harry, taken aback. He raises an eyebrow and clears his throat before responding. “I – I didn’t know I was supposed to.”

Harry shifts, sits up so that Niall has to crawl off of his lap and squeezes the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger as he pushes himself to his feet. He wants to fight it – ignore it, the jealousy rushing through him; he tries to tell himself it isn’t a big deal. And yet it’s sort of a huge deal, is the thing, and he’s not even sure why. “That’s something that would’ve been nice to know, Niall,” he mutters.

“Why?” Niall asks, sounding clueless. He even looks clueless – and only slightly less drunk – sitting with his back tucked into the corner of the sofa.

“Because she’s your ex-girlfriend!” – and there it is: the reason.

“So?”

“S-so? So she’s your  _ex-girlfriend_  and you kept it from me!” Harry shouts. He’s hurt but he’s also angry and he isn’t sure which emotion is speaking right now.

"I didn’t  _keep_  it from you!” Niall yells back defensively. He pushes himself to his feet, then, too and sways a bit, unbalanced, before catching himself. “I just didn’t think it was a big deal, she’s just a friend-“

"She’s not just a friend – she’s an ex-girlfriend,” Harry snaps.

Niall runs a hand through his hair. “Oh my God, why does that matter?”

The brunette sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “It wouldn’t matter if you had told me-“

“Well which is it, Harry?” Niall demands. “Does it matter that she’s my  _ex-girlfriend_  - who I haven’t even seen or talked to in over a year, by the way – or does it matter that I didn’t tell you?”

"You just…” Harry trails off, running a hand through his hair before placing both hands on his hips. The back of his eyes are burning with tears and it feels like his heart’s jumped into his throat. “You should’ve told me.”

“Why? What would it have done? Besides make you jealous and paranoid-”

“Do I have a reason to be? Jealous and paranoid?” Harry counters – and, fuck, he’s not even sure he wants to know the answer.

Niall blinks at him, stares at him for a moment before shaking his head and turning to walk away. “Fuck you,” he mutters, disappearing into the kitchen.

Harry follows like his legs have a mind of his own, watches Niall tug violently at the fridge door before slamming it shut and spinning back around, water bottle in hand – and then words start leaving his mouth like he doesn’t have any control over them. “It’s a legitimate question though, isn’t it? It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Niall takes a large gulp of water before pointing an index finger at him, water bottle still clutched in his hand. “Shut up.”

“Did you bring her into the bathroom-”

“No, I didn’t bring her into the bathroom, Harry!” Niall shouts, throwing his arms about. He looks livid and hurt and betrayed all at the same time – and Harry sort of wants to gather him in his arms. “Jesus Christ, it wasn’t like that!”

Harry purses his lips, shrugs as he folds his arms over his chest protectively. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

The blond raises an eyebrow and places his water bottle on the island counter before gripping the edge of it as he stares across the room at Harry.”You want the truth? – I forgot all about it; about seeing her that day. And do you want to know why? Because I wasn’t fucking interested. Because I’m in this – whatever  _this_  is, with us, I’m in it. How many more ways do I have to tell you that?”

Harry blinks and then frowns because he should be over the moon but he’s not. He pokes his tongue out to wet his lips and then let’s out a shaky, vulnerable breath. “You can start by calling it what it is: a relationship.”

It’s the silence and the way Niall looks down at the marble that twists the knife in Harry’s heart, makes the bile rise in his throat – which he swallows back down because that’s the last thing he needs. “Oh my God, you can’t even say it,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face.

“H-Harry,” Niall murmurs. His voice is soft now, tender and vulnerable and lacking in the anger and the frustration that was there only moments ago.

Harry shakes his head, shrugs Niall off when the blond starts to walk around the island towards him. “I’m going to bed,” he whispers, voice hoarse and thick with unshed tears. And he’s not even sure what’s worse: the fact that Niall lets him walk away or the fact that the second the bedroom door closes behind him he wants to go back out and drag Niall in with him.

+

The door opens and then closes a mere nine minutes later – not that Harry’s been staring at the time on his phone. Harry doesn’t move, remains curled under the covers with his back to the door. He hears Niall shuffle across the room, listens to the sound of his belt hitting the floor before the mattress dips on Niall’s side of the bed. He feels, rather than sees or hears, Niall shift around on the bed and settle against the headboard.

“Harry,” Niall whispers.

“What?”

“It didn’t mean anything – and I honestly didn’t think it would be a big deal,” Niall murmurs. He pauses, then, playing absentmindedly with the blanket covering his legs. “Fuck, Haz,” he breathes finally, “it was  _four_  years ago she and I dated. She’s moved on.  _I’ve_  moved on.”

"Have you,” Harry deadpans, though he doesn’t move an inch.

“Can you stop being moody for like five minutes and just listen to me?” Niall pleads

.

Harry frowns. “I’ve  _been_  listening.”

“No, you’ve been coming to conclusions in your head – and they’re all wrong,” the blond scoffs. “ _Nothing_  happened with Amy tonight. Nothing was  _going_  to happen with Amy tonight. And nothing’s _ever_  going to happen with Amy because I don’t  _want_  Amy. I want this.”

Harry does turn, then, to face Niall, pushing himself up on to one elbow as he goes to speak.

"And before you point out, again, that I can’t  _say it_  – I _know_ ,” Niall whispers, staring down at Harry with soft, blue eyes. The alcohol has since rubbed off; he doesn’t even  _look_  drunk anymore. He reaches the arm closest to Harry out to card his fingers through Harry’s curls. “And I’m working on it. You believe that, right?”

More instinctively than anything, Harry leans into Niall’s touch. He reaches out to curl his arm around Niall’s waist and then squeezes his hip before pulling him down. Niall shifts down to lie down beside him and slips his own arm around Harry’s waist, pulling him close. Harry presses their foreheads together, nudges noses with Niall. “I believe that,” he whispers – and he does. He believes it.

X

Harry’s not quite sure he hears it right the first time. Like, he’s pretty sure he hears it but he’s also 96 per cent sure it’s a figment of his sex-induced, near-orgasm imagination.

Niall’s clinging to him, arms locked tight around his neck, one leg curled around his waist and the other hooked around the back of his thigh. He’s a mess, trembling, moaning and gasping into Harry’s mouth, panting breathless demands of “harder-faster- _more_ ” and kissing, licking, sucking at any part of Harry’s skin he can reach. He isn’t usually this vocal, nor is he usually this desperate and needy – submissive, in a way, but it’s like he’s boneless, like he’d let Harry do absolutely  _anything_  he’s so lost in it.

And perhaps that’s because sex has never been this  _intimate_  before; this raw.

Harry’s never been this  _hard_  before. Or as equally desperate and needy, come to think of it. He’s got both arms curled under Niall’s shoulders beneath the pillow, his face is buried deep in the crook of Niall’s neck and he’s so, incredibly  _deep_  inside of Niall. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows it’s cliché to think that it feels like they’re one person – but he doesn’t care because it  _does_.

And then he hears it – again. A breathless, barely audible “I love you” murmured into the crook of Harry’s neck and followed by a little gasp of pleasure.

Harry’s hips stutter – and then they stop moving all together – and his head snaps back to look at the blond boy beneath him. Niall groans, squirms underneath him and thrusts his hips up; the newer angle makes Harry slip even deeper and a filthy hiss slips between his teeth.

“Keep goin’, Haz,” Niall pants as he pushes his hands through Harry’s hair and then tugs his head down so their foreheads are pressed together. “Please don’t stop.”

And Harry does just that, pulls out so incredibly slowly, listens intently to the long, drawn-out moan that rumbles out of Niall’s throat, and then pushes back in – hard and fast with a breathless groan of his own because, fuck, Niall feels so good. They rock together, Niall meeting Harry thrust for thrust, so hard that the entire bed moves and slams against the wall - and if the bed was against a neighbours wall, Harry wouldn’t even care.

He wants Niall to say it again –  _needs_  to hear it again, at least one more time. So he moves harder, faster, gives Niall more – gives Niall  _everything_. He buries his face back into the crook of Niall’s neck and bites down at the skin there as the blond throws his head back. He knows Niall’s close - can feel him clenching around his dick, can feel Niall’s down dick twitching between their stomachs. He lifts his head just enough to nibble at Niall’s earlobe and then presses his forehead to the side of Niall’s head, against sweaty, matted hair and whispers, “Say it again.”

Niall comes with a sob, bucking his hips up against Harry’s, tugging hard at the ends of Harry’s hair and then kisses him hard, licking into his mouth.  _“I fucking love you,”_  he sighs against Harry’s lips when he pulls away.

A groan rips itself from Harry’s throat when he comes a second later, panting an “I love you” into Niall’s mouth as he continues to thrust gently through his orgasm. His knees give out a moment later and he collapses against Niall’s chest. Niall hums and tightens his arms around Harry’s neck; they both bury their faces in each other’s necks, eyes closed, breathing heavy.

They don’t say anything, don’t do anything. And Harry only moves slightly so he isn’t completely squishing Niall under his weight – but they remain wrapped around one another, limbs tangled. Niall falls asleep like this a few minutes later (Harry can tell by the way Niall’s breathing evens out before his does) and Harry lies his head on Niall’s chest. His heart is still beating rapidly in his chest and his mind is racing with only one thing, whispered over and over again;  _I love you_.

He’d like to think this isn’t a big deal except it’s a  _huge_  deal. It’s bigger than his tooth brush having a spot next to Niall’s bathroom sink. It’s bigger than having a small section of Niall’s closet to himself. It’s bigger than practically – almost – living with Niall considering they’ve been living in each other’s back pockets for about 11 years. It’s just so much bigger than anything they’ve ever done before and, quite frankly, he’s incredibly giddy about it. He also doesn’t think he’s ever been more in love with Niall before.

X

_The last thing Harry expects when he wakes up in the morning is for Niall to come rushing into the bedroom, trousers hung low on his hips, cheeks flushed and eyes wide…_


End file.
